I Want You To Stay
by Tamarai
Summary: Injured in a shipwreck after the frozen summer, Hans never makes it back to his homeland. In Arendelle, Anna takes up the task of nursing him back to health as Hans begins to fall for her. Post-canon Hansanna oneshot


**I Want You To Stay**

"You're not supposed to be out of bed," she said quietly, entering the room.

He barely glanced her way, continuing to stare morosely out the window, hoping that if he ignored her, she'd go away. "You're not a doctor."

"No, but I am charged with your care."

"And why is that?" he asked, a slight edge to his voice. "Funny work for a princess, wouldn't you say?"

"There was an influenza outbreak," she answered hesitantly. "And with the storm and the wreck—" She sighed. "Please, Hans, you shouldn't be out of bed. You almost died."

"What do you care?"

The tray she'd been carrying went down on the bedside table with a clatter, and the sound made him flinch. He wasn't sure if she had slammed the tray down, or dropped it.

Her voice shook when she spoke, "I _loved_ you. Do you honestly think I can just snuff those feelings out like a match and be done with it?"

He almost wished he could take his words back. It wasn't Anna's fault. None of this had been the result of anything she had done. He hadn't meant to upset her. He was just in a bad mood. Being back in Arendelle was awful for him, being injured was awful. Being stuck in this room, in this bed, was awful. He hadn't been sleeping well, and the pain was almost unbearable at times.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, hobbling back to his bed in an attempt to appease her. "I just want to go home." He didn't really, but it was better than being here.

"You aren't well enough for travel, and the weather on the sea's been unpredictable since—"

"Your sister's frozen summer."

She didn't meet his eyes, but nodded stiffly. She busied herself with the tray of antiseptic and gauze. "I need to change your dressings."

He slowly climbed back into bed, pulling the sheets and blankets over his lower body before trying to shrug out of his nightshirt on his own. He winced in pain and she noticed right away.

"Stop! How many times do I have to tell you? You'll tear the stitches!"

He dropped his arms to his sides in defeat. Every day she told him, and yet he tried to do it himself anyway. It was mortifying having her undress him. Having her see him so weak and helpless. Having her touch his bare chest and tend to his injuries with the softest hands. He'd much rather have some old biddy of a nursemaid tending to him than Anna. Anyone but Anna.

Because Anna stirred his senses and piqued his desire, and he couldn't stop it or help it. It was a cruel and unusual punishment, to be back in Arendelle and in the care of the woman he had left for dead.

There was always something far too intimate in her touch, and perhaps it was because of what they had been to each other. He could hardly bear it when she leaned in close enough that he could smell the light scent of soap on her skin.

Or the way she would slowly slip her hands up and under his nightshirt, ever so carefully. Helping him slide his arms through before pulling the fabric up and over his head, leaving him exposed to her in a way that was hardly decent. His heart would hammer in his chest, his cheeks and ears would burn, and she'd think he was running a fever and place a cool, gentle hand on his forehead to check.

God, if she only knew how even the most innocent touch from her affected him. It was part of the reason he tried to be so abrasive when he spoke to her. He needed to keep her away. He couldn't let her in again, not after he'd gone and wrecked it all the first time. What he'd done to her was unforgiveable. And yet none of that had deterred her from caring for him at all.

He was realizing only too late how incredibly remarkable Anna was.

Funny how it took a near death experience to put things into perspective. He was supposed to be dead in the ocean, drowned in a shipwreck, lost to the sea forever. Instead, he had woken up in Arendelle, injured, but alive. And the first thing he'd seen when he'd opened his eyes was Anna's face, hovering above him and smiling softly. Anna _relieved_ to see _him_.

He'd never asked her about any of it, and she never spoke of it. But he knew, _oh_ , he knew just how far the extent of her care went. The nights she was there, wiping his brow with a cool cloth when he'd been delirious with fever; the nights he'd wake up screaming from the grips of a watery grave nightmare and she'd be right there soothing him, her hand caressing his cheek; the nights he'd wake up in pain and find her fast asleep, curled up in the chair beside his bed. Even those first few days when his hands shook so badly from the stress of it all that she'd held his spoon up to his lips for him, helping him eat.

Anna had witnessed him at his most pathetic, his most vulnerable, and not once had she taken advantage of it, tormenting him with the knowledge. Not Anna. She was unlike anyone he had ever known, and even though he was trying his damnedest to stop it, he knew with absolute certainty that he was falling in love with her.

But she was no longer in love with him.

 _I loved you_. She had said. Past tense. She still had lingering feelings, but it wasn't love, not anymore. That had been transferred over to the ice harvester. When Anna wasn't tending to Hans, she was out with the ice harvester, and Hans would watch from his window in silent despair. Because each time she returned, another piece of her heart was taken from him and given to the blonde man instead.

"All right," she said, tearing him away from his miserable thoughts. Her knee pressed into his thigh as she leaned onto the bed beside him, ready to take off his nightshirt. "I don't want you moving until I say so."

He squeezed his eyes shut in torment, feeling her hands at his waist, fishing out the bunched up fabric. Her fingers dangerously close to his excited manhood. One of these days she'd notice, and then he really would have some old biddy nursemaid resuming his care.

He bit back a sigh, as she pulled his shirt up while helping him slip his arms out. The silence between them far more intimate than any of their words had ever been. It was always like this when she tended to him. They barely ever spoke. They didn't need to.

He stayed still for her, enjoying the feel of her hot breath against his bare chest, and her arms reaching around him, unwinding the gauze from around his abdomen.

"It looks better today," she said, surveying the stitched up wound that slashed across half his stomach all the way to his side. It was going to leave one hell of a scar. She reached over to her tray, grabbing the bottle of antiseptic. He watched her unscrew the cap and dip the opening over a bit of cotton.

He drew in a sharp breath, hissing in pain, the sting almost bringing tears to his eyes when she dabbed carefully at his wound.

She glanced up at him. Her smile light and reassuring. "Almost done, you're doing good."

She always said things like that to him when she knew he was in pain and that it was from her efforts to nurse him to health. She didn't have to say anything, and he hated admitting that it made him feel special and brave all at the same time. And that he liked being a good little patient for her.

He watched her quietly as she put the bottle back on the tray, and began to unwind the fresh gauze. He braced himself for the contact, for when her maddening soft touch bordered on ticklish, as though she was teasing his flesh into submission for her. How it made him ache for a firmer handle from her—and longer attention than what she gave. How he wanted to nuzzle against her neck and inhale her intoxicating scent.

She always asked if it hurt when she reapplied the gauze, and today was no different. It never hurt, at least not in a bad way, _not_ that he could tell her that. He suspected she always asked because of the way he would bite his lip and look away from her for reasons that had nothing to do with pain. Torture maybe, if denying his passion could count as such.

"There now," she said softly, slipping off the bed, making him swallow down a whimper of protest. Why couldn't she just stay near him always? "Let's get you a fresh nightshirt."

She was over at the wardrobe in a flash, fetching him a clean shirt when her named slipped from his lips. "Anna?"

She turned to him, shirt in hand with a slight frown on her face. "Is something wrong?"

He shook his head, pleased to hear concern in her voice for him. "No…I, uh…" God, why was this so hard for him to say? _I want you to stay_. _Stay with me. Please stay with me._ "I…I wanted to thank you…" he felt his face grow hot. "For everything."

She smiled that unbearably sweet smile, the one that made his bones feel like jelly, and came back to him, shaking out the shirt. She sat on the edge of his bed and efficiently slipped the crisp cotton over his head, again with those gentle fingers brushing against him as she helped him dress.

"There now," she said, smoothing out his collar, her palm lingering. "I'll let you get some rest."

 _Stay with me_. _Please_.

But he couldn't ask that of her. It wasn't fair of him.

She gathered up her things and left him with that smile, a quick goodbye, and the reassurance that she'd be back later on.

He could already hear the commotion of the ice harvester arriving in the courtyard, and knew exactly where she was going.

He wouldn't see her again until this evening, with another piece of her heart missing from his collection.


End file.
